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“Yeah, but this one means you come with me, so it’s automatically the best.” Rook tugged him toward the door, and his shadows followed like an enthusiastic tide. “Fair warning - Thorn’s going to interrogate you, Silas might ask to run tests, and Julian will probably correct something you say within five minutes of meeting him. That’s his way of being friendly.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“See?” Rook squeezed his hand gently. “You’re going to fit right in.”

Chapter Seven

Rook’s shadows wrapped around Ethan’s hand like they’d been waiting centuries for permission, which, technically, they had.

“The bike’s this way.” Rook guided them down the sidewalk, hyperaware of every point of contact between them. Ethan’s palm felt warm against his, fingers loose but not pulling away. “You good?”

“My anxiety level remains stable.” Ethan glanced down at their joined hands, then at the shadows coiling up both their arms. “Your shadows are...enthusiastic.”

“I’ve told you. They like you.”

“Which would mean, if they respond to your emotional state, that implies you like me.”

Rook laughed. “Yeah, Ethan. I really, really like you.” Understatement of the century. His shadows wanted to drag Ethan back to Shadow House and never let him leave. Rook’s human-shaped brain knew that was a terrible idea, but his Eldritch instincts kept whispering that Ethan would be safer there, especially after that comment about his ex.

Rook’s jaw tightened. Someone had hurt Ethan for months. “Systematically” was Ethan’s word. Whatever that meant, it had made Ethan anxious about touch, made him second-guess his perfectly valid observations, and made him think he was difficult when really he was just honest. Rook wanted a name - more than that, he needed to find whoever had done that and show them exactly how dangerous a possessive guardian could be.

“You’re thinking about my ex.” Ethan’s voice cut through the murderous planning session.

“How’d you know?”

“Your shadows look like they’re strangling a parking meter.”

Rook looked down. Sure enough, his shadows had wrapped around the meter’s pole tight enough to dent the metal. He forced them to relax. “Sorry. I just...eight months is a long time to hurt someone.”

“It was four years ago.”

“I don’t care if it was four centuries ago. He hurt you.” Rook stopped walking, turning to face Ethan on the thankfully empty sidewalk. “That makes me want to dismantle him molecule by molecule. But I won’t, because you didn’t give me his name, which means you don’t want me to. So I won’t.”

Ethan studied him with those sharp eyes, probably mentally adding something else to his data columns. Rook hoped he was gaining points in the positive column. “You’re trying very hard to respect my boundaries.”

“Definitely.”

“That’s...appreciated.” Ethan squeezed Rook’s hand once, then released it. “Is this your motorcycle?”

Rook’s shadows immediately protested the loss of contact, reaching for Ethan like sulking children. Rook reined them in before they could wrap around Ethan’s ankles again. “Right there.”

His bike gleamed black in the morning sun, chrome accents catching the light. Rook had owned one for six years, upgrading it twice when human technology improved enough to notice. The helmet hung from the handlebars. Rook didn’t wear one very often, but he was trying to make a good impression on Ethan.

“That’s a Triumph Tiger 1200.”

“You know bikes?”

“I had a lot of jobs as I worked my way through my undergraduate degree, including at a motorcycle shop.” Ethan circled the bike, examining it with the same intensity he’d used on Rook’s shadows. “This model retails for approximately thirty thousand dollars. How does a guardian acquire that kind of money?”

“Criminals don’t need their bank accounts after we’re done with them.” Rook grabbed the helmet, offering it to Ethan. “Silas handles the financial transfers and makes it look like they moved their assets offshore before disappearing. We donate most of it to victim services, but we keep enough for operating expenses.”

“That’s surprisingly ethical for vigilantes.”

“Thorn’s big on the rules. No innocent casualties, no collateral damage, no drawing attention to ourselves.” Rook helped Ethan with the helmet, adjusting the strap. His shadows kept trying to touch Ethan’s face, and Rook was struggling to hold them back. “We’ve been doing this a long time. Secrecy matters.”

“How often do you encounter humans who can see your shadows?”

“Before Julian? Maybe three times in nine hundred years.” Rook swung his leg over the bike, settling into the seat. “Beacons are rare. Most humans just see regular shadows, even when we’re hunting. It’s like, they see us, but their brains can’t process what we actually are.”